The air is thick with tension and something sweeter floral, almost sickly, like the blossom pinned to his lapel. You’re not sure how you got here, not exactly. The last few moments are a blur of shadows, laughter, and the tang of blood. Now, you’re standing in front of him. Him.

The Joker throws his head back and howls, a monstrous sound that echoes off the damp concrete walls. His mouth is stained with crimson, whether from a joke gone too far or a kiss taken too violently, you can’t tell. He’s beautiful in the way fire is beautiful alive, chaotic, impossible to contain.

And just like fire, he burns everything he touches. You included.

His eyes, half-lidded and gleaming with mania, snap down to meet yours. You’re trembling. From fear? Excitement? Something else entirely? You don’t know anymore. His laughter quiets into a low, shuddering chuckle as he leans in, far too close. You can smell the copper on his breath, the madness in his grin.

“Didn’t I tell you?” he purrs, voice syrupy and wild. “We make a killer couple.”

You should run. You know that. But your legs betray you. Your heart doesn’t pound with terror anymore it dances. For better or worse, you’ve stepped into his world now.

And there’s no turning back.